Chapter 3

As soon as my eyes slide open, I'm alert, but my short-term memory is fuzzy. What happened? Something bad, I think.

I scan the room around me: it's a bedroom I've seen before… and a second later, it all rushes back in, like the inexorable return of the tide. It's the bedroom I'd been in when I was almost raped. Instant panic overwhelms me. Bolting upright, I whip my head around, searching for crouching danger, but thank God, there's no sign of a monster. The last thing I remember is running into the room, the awful red and black room, and seeing my dark-haired beauty watching Minx get whipped. Even before I was grabbed from behind, I might have passed out just from the shock of seeing him in such a compromising position. I'd thought better of him, I suppose. Stupid, I know, since I know less than zero about him. I fall back onto the pillows.

Hearing the door click open, my focus shifts toward it. Irina is coming toward me with a tray. Her glittery red gown is gone; in its place is a plain blue sweater dress and slip-on sandals. Walking to the bed, she eyes me intently.

"Ana, good, you're awake. How are you feeling, dear?"

I ease myself up into a semi-sitting position. "I'm okay. Just a little fuzzy on what happened."

"Oh, Ana, I'm so sorry about your terrible experience in my home. But don't worry: you're safe now. And just so you know, that awful man will never be welcome in my house or among my clientele ever again." She smiles and places the tray above my lap. "Here. I brought you something to eat and a hot drink. Minx will be in shortly to stay with you tonight. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Will you tell me what happened?"

Irina's face is drawn—she looks upset when I ask the question and purses her lips. "Minx was there so I'll let her fill you in. Please forgive me for this terrible attack, Ana. I had no idea Michael was capable of such treachery. He's never been nice, I'll grant that, but he's always before behaved with an acceptable level of decorum. I'm shocked at what he did."

I nod, now anxious for Minx to come in and talk to me. I'm not sure I should be here in this house a moment longer. "What time is it?"

Irina checks her watch. "It's nearly two a.m."

"I think I need to get dressed in my street clothes and go home, Irina."

"No, Ana. It's too late and you need rest. You'll be safe here now, I promise." The door opens and without turning, Irina says, "Minx, come sit with Ana as she eats, and fill her in on what she missed during her unscheduled nap."

Minx tiptoes toward my bed. "Hey, good to see you with color back in your face. I never saw someone faint before. It was… upsetting."

"Yeah, well, you showed me new things last night, too… and ditto," I mutter and am gratified when her cheeks blossom with a full-on blush.

"Point taken."

Irina pats my hand. "Okay, I'll let you two chat. Let's continue our conversation over breakfast tomorrow, Ana. Nine a.m. Okay?"

I nod in resignation. I don't feel like driving home right now anyway.

She exits the room as Minx takes her place on my bed. "So… I'm betting you want to know what you missed."

"Is any of it good?"

Minx snorts with laughter. "Oh, yeah. I'd say so."

"Then tell," I say, reaching for the pickle next to the sandwich Irina brought me.

"First, your Mr. Gorgeous kicked the shit out of the sleazebag. It was poetry in motion—the man can fight, Ana. He must be a blackbelt or something because he took that guy down in seconds and didn't break a sweat. Then…" she looks at me pointedly, "do you wanna know what happened next?"

I finish crunching the sour pickle and pat my mouth daintily with a napkin. "No," I say, lying back down.

"Ana!"

I grin and sit up again. "Of course I want to know. What do you think?"

"Mr. Gorgeous carried you up here to your room. I threw my clothes back on," she looks at me sheepishly, "and came with him. Irina stayed to take out the trash."

"Did he say anything?"

"Who? Mr. Gorgeous?"

I nod.

"Not really. He just looked very pissed off. He did, however, give me this to give you." She hands me a folded piece of paper.

"Did you read it?"

Her green eyes blaze. "Of course not! I will admit it was very hard to resist but I persevered."

"How did that rapist know which room I'd be in?"

"No clue. Irina thought he might have overheard her giving instructions to her house manager. She remembered that he was one of the first clients to arrive.

My eyes shift back to the paper in my hand. I'm dying to read it but not sure I want to do so in front of Minx. Images of her naked, sweaty body strapped to the crossbars and being watched by my dark-haired beauty flood my mind and I feel embarrassed for her and… well, I'm unsure as to what I'm feeling about him. Is it anger or jealousy? Maybe a little bit of both. Certainly there's significant disappointment in him swirling about my soul like a kaleidoscope.

Minx touches my arm delicately. "Would you like me to leave while you read it?"

Mustering a smile, I cast my eyes down and feel my face heat up. "It's silly, I know, but I don't know if it will upset me or not."

"Why would it upset you? He was your knight in shining leather last night. I'm sure he has only kind things to say to you."

"Yes, but I think he may have been upset or annoyed that I discovered him in that room…"

"Why?"

I shrug my shoulders in an exaggerated manner, unsure if I want to pursue this line of conversation with her. After all, she was participating to a greater extent than my beauty. Truly I don't want to offend her for Minx has been nothing but kind to me. Seeing the troubled look on her face, I decide to just read the damn thing in front of her and unfold the small square of paper, willing my fingers not to tremble. Why am I so nervous?

The handwriting is masculine but nice and completely legible.

Ana,

Tonight's events just prove that innocents like you should not dally in houses of ill repute like this one. Earlier you mentioned unexpected debt as your reason for being here. I'd like to help you out in that respect so you won't have to pursue this line of work. Here's my attorney's number. I'll tell him to expect your call. He'll find a way to help you out of your obligations that doesn't include putting yourself in places like Irina's. Please call him ASAP. That's not a request but a direct order. My assistance in this matter is to be kept confidential. Good luck with all.

It was signed, "Your anonymous friend."

I glance up at Minx and smile.

"Well?"

"It's nice. He never does tell me his name."

"That's all you're gonna give me?"

"He asked me to keep the note confidential."

"And you're going to abide by that? Sheesh." She glares at me but I can tell she's just playing so I smile. "Boy oh boy, Ana, you are a one-of-a-kind kinda girl—ethical to the max. Well, good for you. Now…" she pats my cheek, "are you going to eat that sandwich or will I have eat it for you?"

"Let's share it," I suggest. It appears to be chicken with brie on a brioche and it looks delicious. I carefully break it down the middle and hand Minx the slightly larger piece, which she accepts happily. As we eat, we discuss the evening. "So how'd you do tonight?"

Chewing thoughtfully, she answers even though she is currently staring into space. "It went well. I met a few live ones and my old faithfuls. My dance card should be full this year."

"That's good then, right?"

"Oh, yes. Very good."

"Were you ever going to tell me about your extracurricular activities? I mean, I realize I just met you a few hours ago but peculiarly, I feel as if we've been friends forever."

"No, to the interrogative, and, yes, I feel the same way, to the statement."

"Did you think I'd judge you?"

Minx looks down, shame etched across her face. I reach out and lift her chin with my thumb and index finger, the way my dad used to do to me whenever we'd have a heart to heart. "Minx? If it makes you feel bad, why do you do it?"

She keeps her face low—she is starting to break my heart. What I said is very true: we only met earlier this evening but we bonded instantly. As soon as I set eyes on her appealingly pretty heart-shaped face and large green eyes, I felt like I was with a true friend.

"Minx, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I'm not here to judge you; I'm sure you have your reasons for everything you do."

"No, Ana, I'm trying to figure out how to explain it. When I first came to Irina's, it was just to make money. I didn't want to be a stripper or a streetwalker. Irina provided a safe, clean way to make beaucoup bucks. From the start, I was willing to go further than you. My sexual experiences up till that time had been lackluster—to say the least. I also knew that to make the really good money, I had to have sex with these men. I'm paying my way through med school so I needed the dollars."

"Med school? Wow, good for you! That's amazing."

She grins ruefully. "You'd be surprised how many of us do it. Tuition is expensive and the work so time-intensive that it's impossible to work steady hours at a normal job. This one worked for me."

She holds up her hand. "I didn't know about the specialties thing when I first arrived. Irina doesn't want to frighten away new recruits by revealing all the gory details. But I had a mentor as you did with me, and she filled me in." She finally looks up. "The thing is, Ana, that the hardcore sex is what I'd needed all along to enjoy sex but I didn't even know it existed."

"You needed it?"

Nodding forcefully, she tries to explain. "When I was a kid, still a little girl—I didn't even know what sex was, not even a clue—I used to have these fantasies of men becoming physically aggressive with me. Not violent, you know, but just grabbing me and forcing me to do stuff. Since I didn't know about the sexual act, my mind substituted this kind of thing where the man would grab me and squeeze me in an embrace and I'd squirm. It was a hundred percent instinct, not learned, because we didn't own a television and I was homeschooled at the time, so I had zero exposure to anything remotely sexual. It was my innate sexuality. When I saw the leathersex room in full swing," she drops her voice to a whisper, "I was so aroused. I don't do it for the money, Ana. I do it for the sexual fulfillment."

"Oh." I don't know what else to say but I need to say something to reassure her. "That's much better than doing it for money. If you enjoy it and are doing it for yourself… well, that makes me feel better."

She smiles. "Do you think you'll ever try it?"

"Me?" I shake my head and choose my words carefully. "I sincerely doubt I'd ever be brave enough to try it but, hey, you never know. Maybe with a bathtub full of tequila and Mr. Gorgeous in his birthday suit, who knows what could happen?"

We both laugh and the tension is broken. I give Minx a hug. "We should try to get some sleep even though we just ate that damn sandwich. Irina wants us at breakfast at nine."

"Fucking Irina," she mutters and lifts herself off the bed. "Okay, I need to brush my teeth and wash up."

"Me, too." I get up with her. Fortunately the bathroom has twin sinks.

….

Carson McEvoy is the name of the attorney I'm to contact. I call him first thing Monday morning. It's not until the receptionist answers the phone that I realize I have no idea how to introduce myself since I don't know Mr. Gorgeous's name. Should I just call him Mr. Gorgeous and assume the lawyer will know to whom I'm referring? As a result of being caught off-guard, I sound like the village idiot.

"Johnson, McEvoy, and Roberts, how may I assist you?"

"Uh, yes, um, hello. I have… my name is Ana Steele and I was referred to Mr. Carson, I mean, Mr. McEvoy by, um, I guess you could say a mutual friend and…" I stop before I do more damage and because I don't know what else to say.

"Who referred you to Mr. McEvoy?"

"Okay, this is going to sound very strange but I don't know his name. I met him recently and he never gave me his name but he told me Mr. McEvoy would be expecting my call."

"Hold on, Ms. Steele, and I'll check for you."

"Thank you."

She puts me on hold and I sit there listening to Radiohead. Well, at least they have good music on hold. It makes it marginally better to wait. I do not, however, have to wait long. Before a minute passes, a man picks up the call and his voice is friendly and amused.

"Ms. Steele. Our mutual friend informed me you'd be calling. Without knowing anything about your problem, I'd like to have a conference with you right away. Please bring any and all materials relating to your situation, and you and I will set up a plan to address it. Okay?"

Taken aback by the swiftness of his agreement to help, I'm momentarily speechless.

"Ms. Steele, are you still with me?"

"Uh, yes. I'm sorry. Do I set up the appointment with you or your receptionist?"

"How about this morning? Is there any way you can get to my office before ten? I'm due in court at noon. I can juggle a few things and give you my morning. How's that?"

"That's great. Thank you so much, Mr. McEvoy. I'll be there in …oh, wait. I don't know where your office is located."

He laughs and rattles off the address. It's about twenty minutes away. If I take a power shower and dress quickly, I can be there in about forty-five minutes. It's eight-twenty now. "Is nine-fifteen convenient?"

"Perfect. See you then, Ms. Steele."

One hour and sixteen minutes later, sitting in his posh office, I finish explaining my whole sorry story to the astonished attorney. To his credit, he listened quietly the whole time and only interrupted to ask for clarification here and there. When I'm done, I stop speaking to wait for his response. Mr. McEvoy's next words are some I never would've predicted.

"Ana, this whole thing sounds like a very ambitious scam to me."

"A scam? What do you mean?"

He holds up his hand. "Allow me to ask you a few questions. First, when the U.S. Attorney contacted you, did you ever call him back?"

"Yes, I believe so… yes, definitely."

"Now think carefully: did you get his number through Google or a telephone directory at the DOJ or did you call a number he himself provided?"

"I called a number he provided but I remember it was only one or two digits different from the official contact number listed on the web site."

He nods. "A good con artist can easily achieve that and more. What about this so-called immigration attorney: you said you found him yourself?"

I nod in assent and then a thought slams into my brain: I got the immigration attorney's contact info from the information sheet the U.S. attorney sent me with all the debt information. I close my eyes in horror and groan at my own stupidity. "I did call him myself; however, I believe I chose him from a list given me by the so-called U.S. Attorney."

He just looks at me, his face kind.

I drop my face into my hands, dismayed by my gross gullibility. The thought keeps running—

"Ms. Steele?"

"Call me Ana, please."

"Look, Ana, don't beat yourself up about falling for it—these guys are professionals and they do their homework before they launch a sophisticated scam like this one. Have you made any payments at all?"

"No. I was supposed to send the first one this week."

"Excellent."

"He said his name was Robert Downey, Jr.—which I thought was bizarre but I checked it with the Department of Justice web site and there is indeed a U.S. Attorney by that name."

"As I said, they do their homework."

"You're sure this isn't legitimate?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'll tell you how I know this is fraudulent, Ana, even before I do any checking. Number one, any immigration attorney worth his or her salt would never advise anyone to pay outright a foreign national's debt given these facts.

"Number two, unless you specifically signed a contract assuming responsibility for the debt at the outset, say for example a credit card or loan, jointly with your husband, you're not liable for any of his debts. In your case, especially under these unique circumstances, the marriage contract alone isn't enough to trigger your obligation to pay. Even in a community-property state such as Washington, this would be unlikely to hold up in court. You didn't benefit from any of this debt. He racked up this debt on foreign soil when you were living apart and assuming the marriage was properly annulled. Do we know if Hans is dead?"

I shake my head. "No, I haven't been able to contact any of the family."

"Now, your friend's mother told you she would take care of the annulment, correct?"

"Yes."

"Obviously you must have signed paperwork for her to assume she could do that."

"I think I signed a power of attorney, if I'm not mistaken."

"Power of attorney has limited scope. That said, we'll do a search to see if an annulment was granted. If not, we will apply for one. I'll also attempt to determine definitively if Hans is dead or alive."

He stopped talking. Were they done?

"Mr. McEvoy, I appreciate your consult and advice tremendously but I do not currently have the financial resources to engage your services. I—"

"Ana, it's been taken care of by our mutual friend."

"It seems overly generous for him to do when we barely know each other. I don't even know his name."

"Oh, that reminds me…" He removes a stapled group of papers from a folder on his desk and hands it to me. "Remember the agreement you signed for Madame Irina to ensure that all information that came into your possession through your employment was confidential and could not be divulged?

I nod my assent. It was only a few days ago.

"These papers represent a similar contract but this one pertains exclusively to our friend. Let's call him Mr. G. for ease of purpose."

Say what? My mouth literally drops open in shock. How does he know Minx and I call him Mr. Gorgeous? Do Irina's walls have hidden surveillance cameras? The idea nauseates me for it's very possible.

"Is something wrong?" he asks softly.

I shake my head vigorously for my voice would fail me right now.

He nods and, like a gentleman, pretends my behavior is not odd. "Please date and sign the last page by the yellow tape with the ex next to it. On the second page there is a security provision that very specifically outlines what information is to be deemed confidential. You'll need to read and initial it by the yellow tape, please."

I comply with his requests but my mind is racing with other attention-sucking matters such as does McEvoy know where I met Mr. G? Does he know what Mr. G likes to do in his spare time? Why is my dark-haired beauty insisting on legal protection when I don't even know his name? I mentally shake myself and try again to read the provision.

..whereas the party of the first agrees that any and all of the following listed information is to be considered proprietary and confidential…"

"Why proprietary?" I ask the attorney.

"My client uses these same forms for prospective employees. Proprietary information is any that a person would learn in the course of working for his corporation, be it trade secrets, client data, or personal information gained as a byproduct of said employment."

Nodding my understanding, I go back to the legal paper.

Confidential information means any technical, business, or personal information furnished by the Disclosing party to the Receiving party in furtherance of the Purpose…

It appears to be a standard legal form, at least to my untrained eyes. The only aspect that really interests me is that he's listed just about anything one might learn about him or his company. Reading this confidential disclosure agreement makes me even more curious as to Mr. G's identity. I pick up the pen McEvoy placed on the desk, and initial the security provision, then flip to the last page and sign it. "Is that it?"

The attorney checks the signature, looks at me, and smiles enigmatically. "For now, yes. I want you to leave all the paperwork you brought so I can have my paralegal do some research and verification. If anyone should contact you about the debt, stall. Do not give him or her any information. We don't want to alert them that we're onto them."

"Okay. What do I do in the meantime?"

"Do nothing. I will handle it all from here on in. If you're unsure about anything that comes up, call me. Now, I'm going to ask you to wait here for a moment, please."

"Um, okay."

He gets up from his desk and steps out through a different door than the one I came through. I cross and uncross my legs, like, four times, trying to get comfortable. Minutes pass and I'm wondering why he has me waiting. Is he making copies of my documents? No, because he left them on his desk. What could he be doing?

I pull out my phone to check for messages. There's one from Kate and a voice mail from my mother. As I'm answering Kate's message, I hear the door open and my eyes dart up. And further up.

It's not McEvoy standing there; it's my very tall, dark-haired beauty. Instead of a tux as he wore so well on Saturday night, he's wearing a beautifully tailored pearl gray suit. What he's not wearing, however, is a mask…